


Just Another Cheap Act

by GalacticGoat



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Humanstuck, M/M, Psychic Reading, apparently john is a really smart asshole, inspired by that one passage in my psych book, state fairs, this is so tacky i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 00:27:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3361025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalacticGoat/pseuds/GalacticGoat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“So, how about we stop sitting here, doing the equivalent of whistling through our snort barrels while touching each other inappropriately? You’ve got the cash, so let’s just get this over with.”</p><p>“I’m sensing an extreme lack in enthusiasm, buddy.”</p><p>“Wow, you really <i>are</i> a psychic reader; I didn’t think <i>anyone</i> would have been able to sense that,” you sarcastically reply.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Cheap Act

You thought incense was supposed to be soothing-- burning a fucking hole through your unfortunate windpipe probably wasn’t its original intended purpose.

Velvety, dark purple curtains are draped everywhere. The persian rug rolled out on the floor is probably a knock-off brand purchased from a garage sale at the whopping price of ten bucks with the special addition of some particularly chunky flakes of dandruff. Your butt is sore thanks to the chair it’s perched in. You wonder how many diseases you acquired just by coming in contact with the circular table in front of you. It seems innocent enough at first glance, but the barely-there stains strewn across the dark wood are telling you a different story. It’s exactly what you’d expect from any old psychic reader’s room, complete with flickering candles and strategically-placed, intricate pillows that were probably added for aesthetics rather than actual usage.

This isn’t the kind of place you’d usually go to. Hell, this isn’t even the kind of place you’d usually _consider_ going to, not in your wildest dreams. Superstition isn’t something you buy into; any old dickbag can prop up a few mirrors, blow some smoke, jack off while staring intently into a crystal ball, then “predict” your future and correctly guess a few of a client’s personality traits. But of course, you’re the guy whose friends could be told that “gullible” sounds like “green beans” when spoken slowly, and they’d STILL fall for it and sound it out. The state fair you and your friends are frequenting is filled with cheap acts meant to squander away your cash, and apparently that’s the kind of horseshit Terezi Pyrope and Sollux Captor came here for. You were perfectly fine with enjoying a ride or two, maybe playing a game and attempting to win a prize. But now that this particular scam had caught their eye (“C’mon, KK, you know AA would kick my ass if I _didn’t_ go in there, she loves this kind of stuff,” “I am all about the cold, hard facts you hardass, but sometimes delving into different things is fun! At least let me get a good sniff of the burning incense, from here it seems absolutely delicious”), it was a farewell to five of your precious dollars.

The place was empty when you entered (big surprise). Awkwardly shuffling to the side of the entrance space, you all looked at each other as if silently asking whether or not it was worth waiting for someone to appear. Suddenly, through the curtains, a whirl of dark gray and blue rushed through. Your money was abruptly yoinked from your possession, and a firm pair of hands guided you through the second entrance, into the main room. You were pushed into a rickety chair, facing another seat across the table. This now leaves you in your current situation.

The realization hits you that Terezi and Sollux aren’t in here with you. The person, a man that looks slightly younger than you, is settling himself into the other chair, and you break into a cold sweat. Why did he separate you? If this doesn’t say “potential set-up for totally illegal acts that could likely cause you harm,” then you don’t know what will. Maybe he’s some deranged murderer who gets shits and giggles off masquerading as a psychic reader, then picks off victims that are stupid enough to even think this line of work could provide them with even a fraction of practical, nonsense-free help. That would be horrendously shitty, considering you’re not even one of those kinds of people, so you sure as hell don’t deserve that fate.

“Why the fuck did you take me back here alone? If this is a part of your plan to violently stab me in the chest multiple times and harvest my kidney I swear I’ll scream loud enough to burst my own damn lungs. Then I’ll shit all over your fugly table-- like hey, if this guy gets my kidney, why not throw in some complimentary excrement, you know! I’m just so fucking generous! But wait, there’s more--”

“Please tell me you’re not always like this, dude.”

“Oh, so he finally speaks. That explains everything, huh? I’m so enlightened. Hahaha, I wonder why I felt nervous at all! All my questions have been answered; I feel so secure now. It’s like being wrapped in a goddamn snuggie of security! Thank you so much, taintchaffer!”

“Okay, okay, I get your dumb point! I separated your group because my interpretations are better when I do them one-on-one! Happy now?”

“I’m never happy, asshole.”

“Sheesh, you’re bitter.”

“I try.”

Your banter jolts to a halt thanks to an astonishing lack of material.

This guy looks like an out of place lumberjack, sans the beard and plaid get-up. Well, at least his build gives you that impression. He’s muscular-- you can tell by the way his arms seem to be struggling to break free from the prison that are his light blue dress shirt’s sleeves. Gray formal pants and vest, as well as a navy tie complete his look. He’s wearing some simple, square-framed glasses. You’d almost consider him to appear composed, but then his absurd bed-head comes in and blows that notion completely out of the water. You conclude that he looks like a disturbingly muscular, well-dressed manchild. An _attractive_ , disturbingly muscular, well-dressed manchild.

You can feel his eyes scanning your appearance too, and heat inexplicably rushes to your face. You didn’t come here to unabashedly check out your potential scammer, and you sure as hell didn’t pay him to check you out, either.

“So, how about we stop sitting here, doing the equivalent of whistling through our snort barrels while touching each other inappropriately? You’ve got the cash, so let’s just get this over with.”

“I’m sensing an extreme lack in enthusiasm, buddy.”

“Wow, you really _are_ a psychic reader, I didn’t think _anyone_ would have been able to sense that,” you sarcastically reply. He only huffs in response.

“Look, just reach across the table, and let me hold your hands,” he gestures towards himself.

“Why the fuck would I need to do that.”

“It’s like, a personal connection, or something! I can’t explain it to you, it’s a psychic reader thing! I’m not going to read your palms, but I still need closer contact so that this whole thing is right. You don’t want me to make those five bucks go to waste, right, numbnuts?” Nice to know you both have skipped over proper names and have moved right to name-calling. You both are the epitome of maturity, it’s you. His explanation is more than simply lacking, but if it’s what he wants, then so be it.

You reluctantly reach across the table, and he firmly clasps your hands in his.

The aroma of incense has become bearable by now, thank God. The room is illuminated mainly by the candles, and their flickering is casting eerie shadows on the other man’s face. His shoulders and arms are slack, but his back appears to be rigid. He’s peering at you, almost smugly, and you can feel the hairs on your arm begin to stand straight. The silence spans out and you’re about to awkwardly cough to indicate your discomfort when he inhales deeply and opens his mouth to speak.

“You’re frustrated.” His voice is suddenly uncharacteristically smooth, and it gives you a serious fucking case of the heebie-jeebies. You shift in your seat as he continues, “It’s… an issue at work.” What. How the fuck. “You want a promotion in order have the opportunity to lead your coworkers to higher success, but your boss is refusing to allow it due to your attitude issues.” Where the fuck is he getting this from, you’re positive there’s nothing on you that would hint at your workplace problems. But yet, here he is, spewing from his meal tunnel exactly what your dilemma is.

“There’s a family member missing from your life. They died when you were young, and while you lost them a while ago, you still miss them. They were religious, but you yourself aren’t…” Holy fuck. “You used to want to impress other people, but eventually stopped caring and threw all caution to the wind.” Creepily accurate. Again.

“How the hell are you doing thi--” he cuts you off by giving you a pointed look.

“You can be aggressive and threatening to others, but at other times you are caring and kind,” his eyes have slowly become hooded, and his lips adjust into a smirk as you gape at him. You hadn’t noticed it earlier, but his eyes are a jolting electric blue. The candle light bouncing off of them makes them glimmer in a way that almost makes it feel as if he’s internally laughing at you, and you don’t know if you want to laugh along with him, or deck him in the face.

“You’ve had a fair share of romantic struggles in the past,” your mind flashes to Terezi and you hunch your shoulders in embarrassment (though you had both eventually reconciled and moved on, it still burns), “but you’ve got a date coming your way. So be excited, I guess.” There’s a prolonged pause before he lets out a long exhale, and his posture relaxes enough that he vaguely resembles a pile of spaghetti.

You didn’t even realize your hands are trembling in the other man’s grip until he finally releases them. It feels slightly like you’ve been punched in the stomach, then doused in a bucket of ice water. These kinds of things are usually bogus, but he got them spot-on. He needs to tell you how he did that; you know it isn’t some sixth sense! He’s probably got connections with one of your friends, or maybe he works in your office and gossiped with coworkers, or **something**. You’re already standing up to speak before you’ve even processed exactly what you’re going to say, so your words come out like a tsunami of verbal vomit.

“Okay you feculent shit hole, tell me how the hell you pulled that off. This kind of thing is usually a supernatural heap of trash, so what the fuck kind of science are you using to be so accurate!? ‘Fess up because I’m on the verge of flipping my shi--” for the second time, you are interrupted by this guy, this time by his hand being held directly in front of your face.

“We’re out of time! We need to give your friends a chance, bro!” With that, he grabs you by the shoulder blades and leads you out in the same manner as he had led you in.

You’re unceremoniously pushed past the curtains and back into the waiting space. The man is already reaching out for the hands of not just one, but both of your friends. You barely convince yourself that it wasn’t a figment of your imagination when the guy winks at you before pulling both of your companions through the curtains. What the fuck was he going on about when he said he worked best with one-on-one interpretations, if he’s just going to disregard that statement later!? This crotchrot is proving to be particularly exasperating and inconsistent; you can’t tell which part of him is candid, and which portion of him is a steaming heap of wretched dog crap.

You’re left pacing in a circle for no less than five minutes. Both Captor and Pyrope leisurely stroll out like they’re taking a casual walk in the goddamn park, and for some reason you find it infuriating. They believed this whole ass backwards occult mumbo jumbo in the first place, and that makes it significantly harder to find someone who can relate to whatever the hell it is that you’re feeling! You know those two would just laugh off if you told them his ‘psychic’ act was bullshit, and that he’s got to have a serious fucking science behind it. Both of them are likely to brush your accusations off and dismiss this man’s abilities as inexplicable yet honest-to-God magic. Instead of acting out your internal emotions (which would include the action of firing rage-powered laserbeams from every one of your bodily orifices), you approach your companions.

“So what did you think?” you ask.

“The guy’s utter shit, I don’t think he could tell his ass from his left hand if he tried,” Sollux shrugs and doesn’t elaborate.

“The man tried to tell me I had a younger brother who hated my guts. After I told him he was wrong and that I had only an older sister, he sent us out; you could smell how sweaty and flustered he was getting after we told him he was incorrect, and it was hilarious!” Terezi pipes in.

You suddenly don’t understand anything.

“That’s it! I’m going in there and talking to him again.” You brush past the others and fling open the curtains. The shitsponge is leaning back in his chair at the table, grinning complacently as you storm into the room.

“You look as if you didn’t just make an utter trainwreck of yourself in front of my friends, and I really don’t get what is going on anymore with you and this whole act. Are you trying to make me look like I’m off my rocker? Did you look at my face and think, ‘Hmmm, I think I’ll just play mind games with this kid until his frontal lobe collapses in on itself’? I’m really not appreciating your sense of humor, so knock it off!”

“Woah, woah, woah! I just wanted to get you back here again; I didn’t want to piss you off!”

“Then explain how you did that thing, then maybe I’ll stop riding up your ass with my fiery hot rage breath!”

“Sure, but you have to promise not to tell anyone else. It’s an inside secret, okay?” He winks at you again, and you are a fraction of a second away from smacking him upside the head. He makes a big show of leaning side to as if to look for eavesdroppers, then leans closer towards you.

“The truth? It’s all about observation. I just had to get a good look at you, for the most part! The rest is all being general and building from there. Oh, and theatrics, those are important too”

“You honestly expect me to believe that.”

“Yeah! It’s advice from the best psychic reader I know! You can’t really catch every single thing about a person just by looking at them, but you can take a good look at the state of their clothes, their posture, and their behaviors, and make a pretty good guesstimation.”

“A guesstimation.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you honestly got my entire workplace situation, as well as the details of my family just by guesstimating.”

“Like, I looked at you a bit and noticed your clothes are a little old and worn. There’s a hole or two in your jacket that seem to have been patched up, so I didn’t think it’s really a matter of comfort versus style; you’d just buy a new comfy jacket without any holes, if it were like that! I thought it had something to do with money. But it couldn’t be that you were money-tight and struggling because here you are, wasting money on the fair! That probably just meant you had a secure, low-wage job. And we all know that practically everybody wants to be promoted at work. Then I just took a look at your personality and added two and two together! You seem a little on the rough side, so I guessed that you hadn’t gotten that promotion you wanted because of your attitude. I could’ve gotten way off track if you had shown body language that didn’t confirm what I was saying.”

“Honestly, what the fuck.”

“And figuring out the whole parent situation was actually easier! You’re wearing a simple chain necklace with a cross. The silver looks really scuffed up and old, and I think you’d probably try to clean it up a bit more if you were religious-- it’s a symbol of faith, y’know? A lot of people feel like that jewelry would need to be respected. If you aren’t religious but you still wear that cross, then probably someone else in your family was religious, but they died, so you wear that necklace to remember them, even if you aren’t as religious! Who was it, by the way?”

“My dad. He was a priest who was murdered when I was six.”

“Oh, damn, that’s awful! I’m sorry about that, dude.”

“After listening to you jabber on for the past few minutes, I’ve decided that you sound like a beefier, even less charming version of Sherlock Holmes.”

“Nice, I guess…? That sounded like a backhanded compliment, but I’ll just take it as well-intended! Anyways, to finish off my explanation, the whole personality shtick is pretty much stating things that are common between the majority people, and the rest is up to personal interpretation. Is that clarification good enough for you? I don’t want any shit flipped in this place, whatever that means; it’s not mine.”

“Your explanation is actually making me more frustrated than claiming it to just be by sparkling ‘majyks’ and similar bullfuckery because honestly no human should be able to have a brain that works so fucking fast, but wait, did you just say that this place wasn’t yours!?”

He actually hesitates this time.

“Uh… You know ‘the best psychic reader’ I talked about earlier?”

“The one who apparently taught you a lifetime of psychic reading tips and then simply labeled it as ‘advice?’”

“Yep, that’s the one!”

“So…?”

“This is actually her tent. I’m not even actually a psychic reader, I just wanted to give this whole thing a try.” It’s a motherfucking miracle that you are so young, because if you were even a year older while hearing this news, you are positive you would have just died of a fury-induced aneurysm.

“What, do you get some kind of sick pleasure from parading around with a fake job like you’re an asshole who’s starring in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade? You took our money, you fuck! Don’t you have to have a license in order to be considered ‘valid’ in this writhing knotted hell of a career? I could call the cops on you, probably! What even happened to the actual reader? Please lie to me and tell me their corpse isn’t dismembered and packaged neatly in a carefully hidden briefcase.”

“What, no! Rose is out on a lunch break, and told me to watch her tent. I’m actually a magician from a few stands down that decided to take the day off, but she’s my friend, so she trusts me to look after her place! She just left, so when you all came in I decided to waste some time.”

“So your idea of fun involves ripping people off.”

“That’s a pretty harsh way to put it, and I _did_ give you exactly what you were looking for.”

“That same thing isn’t applicable to my friends! Your performance with me compared to your performance with them took a 180 degree turn in levels of quality. How did you manage to fuck that up so badly?”

“Well, doing all the analytic stuff really tired me out the first time I tried it on you, so I just thought, ‘to hell with it!’ and did what I could with your buddies. It didn’t really matter in the first place considering I wasn’t trying to impress _them_.”

Oh. That… That sure is something. You’re not blushing, this tent is just perplexingly warm, meaning your face is a little heated at the moment. You’re thankful there’s not much light in here.

“I--” your horrible voice proves to be a traitor when it cracks. You barrel onwards, “I guess that’s why you got me to come in here alone, then?”

“Heh, yeah. Sorry, that probably seemed pretty creepy at first, right? But I can promise you, I’m not going to whip out any spooky masks or bloody chainsaws any time soon. I just wanted an excuse to check you out and hold your hand. Wow, that doesn’t sound much better.”

“I get the sentiment.”

“Anyways, I think I’m probably pushing my limits here on what Rose will be okay with, so now I think I kind of have to boot you out of here for real, this time. Here’s you and your friends’ money,” he presses fifteen dollars into your palm, “I was planning on handing it back anyways because my dad would give me a stern talk if I didn’t. Uh… I think that’s it?”

“Uh. I think so.” You push yourself out of your chair with the aid of the table. As you go to step through the curtains for the last time, another question strikes you.

“Wait a minute, you never told me how you predicted me getting a date. Did you just pull that from your ass? Did you hyperanalyze the possibility of me getting one based on my minty-fresh breath or something equally as asinine?”

“No, there’s definitely a little trick I used with that! You’ll just have to wait and see, but I think there’s at least a kind of good chance.” He’s moving uncomfortably in his seat and keeping his eyes pointed down at the table. Could your eyes be deceiving you, or does he look flustered? It’s strangely adorable, but you’re probably in the wrong, here.

“Anyways, thanks for the enlightenment. If all the shit you just pulled came from a psychic reader herself, then I’ll be sure to keep my friends and I a safe distance away from this business in order to save what little money we already have from you soulless con artists. It’s been fun, though.”

“See you around!”

Regretfully, you return to the entrance space where Sollux and Terezi are waiting for you with their arms crossed sternly.

“I hope there’s a reason why you decided to go in there and make an ass of yourself, KK.” Of course Sollux is the first to get up on your case.

“You seriously aren’t going to believe what was going on with that guy,” you say as you begin to recount what you had just learned. Walking out of tent while still speaking, you separate the three fives in your hands in order to redistribute them to your friends. A slip of white paper flutters out from between two bills, and you will admit that you feel like a motherfucking ninja when you snatch it on your first try. There’s a hastily-written message on it, written in blue pen. Your story to the others stops as you pause to read it.

“i don’t even know your name and this is kind of out of nowhere, but i was wondering if you would like to go on a date sometime? it’s okay if you don’t, but i at least want to try to talk a bit! i know it is a little goofy and old-fashioned, but my pesterchum’s at the bottom. do you use pesterchum? i bet you do, you look like the kind of guy that would, haha. anyways, do you know the movie national treasure? i kind of feel like you’re patrick gates and my heart is the declaration of independence... because i think you just stole it. oh god. that was so tacky and i am so happy i am not saying this directly to your face. i don’t really know what else to say, so i guess i’ll see in a few days whether or not this works, heh.”

The bottom is signed, “ectoBiologist, aka john egbert.”

Your heart does this unnecessary skip, and you cannot deny that you may raise the corners of your mouth marginally. What can you say? You’re a sucker for this kind of stuff.

When you get home, you intend to fulfill that last part of Egbert’s prediction. Maybe he’s got a sixth sense after all.

 ****  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this whole thing was inspired by a passage in my ap psych book. it's called "how to be a 'successful' fortune-teller/psychic reader," or something along those lines, and i just thought it'd be interesting to apply some of the tips from there into a goofy old fic. there are a few things i really need to address, too: 
> 
> first off, it should be said that not much research was put into this. i'm probably hella wrong about a lot of points, but this was supposed to be a little drabble that didn't require much commitment. 
> 
> secondly, i know that karkat is being a giant fuckface with his attitudes towards this kind of business, and i'm sorry if it insulted anyone. i feel like he'd be kind of close-minded when it comes to this stuff, and while john sure as hell isn't qualified to do this kind of work (and therefore he used observation instead), who knows whether rose is more valid with her supernatural abilities or not. 
> 
> thirdly, sorry for any blaringly obvious errors. i literally typed this all in a day, and i don't have anyone to give feedback/check for grammatical or spelling errors. i'll probably comb this over later and fix up what i missed earlier, but there'll probably still be some problems.
> 
> finally, i'm not 100% sure about the title for this. that might change.
> 
> i'm hoping everything i typed is coherent. it's 3am and i'm sick and tired, heh. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!


End file.
